Speakeasy Child
by SleepingwithinWater
Summary: Éponine is bound to the club; she can never leave. But when a pretty bootlegger starts frequenting the pub, she starts dreaming of far off places he can take her. She gets ideas that he can save her, and try as he might, there are some road-blocks no one can overcome. (E/É; 1924 AU)
1. Hit On All Sixes

**A/N: Bonjour, again. I'm sure by now people are sick of me constantly posting another story; oh well. Just like I stated in 'Teacher of Man,' because of school, I am not sure how frequently I will be able to update. I generally am pretty free, but two stories (one of which I haven't updated in awhile) could be hectic. Hopefully not, because I love them both already.**

**As always, enjoy (and review, if you please). **

**(Before I forget, the idea for this fic goes to **_**epponinas**_** on tumblr from her Les Mis AU prompt/series.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to the rightful owner.**

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Hit On All Sixes

**1920's slang: **_to hit on all sixes_ – to perform 100%; as in "hitting on all six cylinders."

.::.

The smokey haze from the cigarettes that dangled from both fat fingers and skinny fingers alike was starting to really, _really _bother Éponine Thenardier, or 'Ponine, as she went by now. One would think that since Éponine had worked in the speakeasy (underneath the bottom of a general store) since 1921 she would be used to it by now. After all, it was 1924 and she was bigger than ever. After moving to America in 1918 in order to fulfill her dream of becoming a singer – well, anyone that she _wasn't_, really, Éponine got a job as a bar-girl, but then the Prohibition Act came and banned all forms of alcohol, the producing and selling of it, and she was out of a job and her flat.

But then, with the new laws, she found an even better job, surprisingly enough. She sang jazz on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights in the same speakeasy in which she had gotten her first job. It started out shaky; Éponine wasn't really keen on singing in front of a large group of men, but she grew to love it. They certainly loved it. Men came from all around to listen to this _'Ponine_, with her captivating voice and sensual French accent. It drove them crazy, and it drove her crazy, and it drove the owners crazy 'cause they kept making money.

Things weren't as easy as they looked. As much as she liked singing, behind the scenes things were rough. It was hard to make ends meet and Éponine was sold to the business of being a jazz singer; she could never leave. A blood deal no one could pay off, and one no one knew about but she and Maurice, the owner.

Then there was always the threat of being found out; the coppers would sometimes shine their lights around on the streets above and everything would turn eerily silent. Éponine was amazed at how the place was still open. She'd even seen a few police in there herself.

Her favorite thing, though, about being a singer, was the spotlight. Éponine had always dreamed of becoming famous. She'd received empty promises and heartbreak from her sweetheart back in France so, she plowed a way for herself, and sometimes, she basked in the glory all she wanted. But even so, her dream was not to just be a singer. She wanted to be a Ziegfeld girl.

But she was in the dead of Chicago, not New York City. All the same, she knew she would get there one day; she just had to.

And she would use whoever she had to, if that's what it meant.

She took a deep bow and stepped off the small stage in the corner of the room, waving slightly and laughing as there were loud cheers. Éponine slipped off into the back room and let her hair down from the pin it was held in. She sighed, fixed her makeup, and then returned to the main room. She wouldn't have to sing again for awhile, but why wait around in the back when there were plenty of young men out there completely willing to buy her a drink?

.::.

George Enjolras stepped into The Watering Hole and took off his hat. The haze made it a little hard to see, but he could make out the counter well enough to walk over and take a seat. This was his favorite gin-shop. Not only did it provide the best and some of the cheapest booze around, but it had the best service. He and Maurice went back to school years and because Enjolras supplied some of Maurice's alcohol, he got it for free.

Once he sat down, Maurice was there to give him his regular. Enjolras tipped his hat to the man in thanks. Maurice leaned his elbows on the counter and put his head in his palms. "So, when's your next shipment coming in?"

Enjolras shrugged, stared into his full cup, took a long sip, and then set the cup down. "Thursday."

Maurice took a glance around his shop. George Enjolras was the head of a prospering bootlegging business known as _Les Amis_. It was a group of young men, some graduated from school, others still taking classes. They were from all over: New York, New Jersey; there even were two guys from France. Enjolras was from New York, himself. He'd lived there all his life, until his parents split and his father dragged him to Chicago, where he was introduced to the world of guns and killers.

After his father had died, he dropped out of university and started _Les Amis _right before the Prohibition Act. At first, he ran a normal bar along with Arnold Grantaire, a man from New York as well, but then the new law was enacted and their business was shut down. For awhile, they were out of a job until they came across a man who went by Dr. Dee. Dr. Dee had barrels full of the finest alcohol from around the world smuggled secretly into the country. He then distributed it to a large number of people who either sold it or passed it along or kept it as their own. Enjolras and his men distributed the gin to people like Maurice, as well as selling their own. It was highly dangerous; they could be put in jail for years if anything went wrong.

Regardless, he made wonderful profit.

"And you can get me my stuff by Thursday evening?" Maurice pierced Enjolras' eyes with his own.

Enjolras shrugged again and pulled out a cigarette. "I've got other orders to fill, Reece." He lit the cigarette and put it in his mouth. "I can get it to you on Friday, most likely."

Maurice rubbed his eyes. "That's not good enough," he growled. "I'm nearly out and you know Wednesday is my busy day!"

The other man narrowed his eyes at his old friend and blew the smoke out in his face. "Not my problem," he said calmly.

Maurice clenched his fist and nearly banged it on the counter, but for sake of appearance, he let his fist fall gently. "That should be your problem! You provide to me!" His chubby pointer finger landed on Enjolras' shoulder and Enjolras regarded it with a sly glance, his anger beginning.

He cleared his throat and pushed the man's hand away. "If you keep this up, I won't provide here at all and you will be out of business."

Maurice faltered, but realizing he had a point, took a step back. "You're right. I apologize."

Enjolras coughed and stubbed his cigarette then downed the rest of his beer. He took a look around The Watering Hole and cracked his neck. A woman hopped up onto the stage at that point and there was a round of applause. He looked over his shoulder to ask Maurice who she was, but the short, fat man was gone.

The woman, of medium height with shoulder length black hair, took to the microphone and sang a slow jazz song. The song rang in Enjolras' ears and he wasn't exactly listening to the words; he just continuously watched her mouth form the words and the gentle sway of her hips. He was totally enraptured with this woman and with the song that he hardly payed attention to Grantaire and Combeferre coming in and sitting on either side of him.

When the song ended, and she stepped off the stage and went into a back room, Enjolras still could not look away. Grantaire, after calling his friend's name, finally snapped his fingers in front of Enjolras' eyes.

Enjolras snapped and frowned. "God, R, what?!"

"Joly's in the hospital."

Enjolras wanted to tell him to buzz off, ask why he thought he would care, but he held his tongue. He sighed and rubbed his temples. "Why? Another case of the flu?" He snickered and motioned for another drink; it was brought to him quickly. He shot it down and wiped at the underside of his nose. As hard as he tried to think of something else, his thoughts continued to wander toward that singer..

Combeferre straightened his back. "He's been shot."

_That changes things_, Enjolras thought, sitting straighter. "Where?"

"Second street, an unhappy customer."

The leader sniffed and slid off of his chair, leaving a fiver on the counter. He grabbed his coat and shrugged it on. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's go."

.::.

Éponine drew the red curtain back and blinked several times. He was quite handsome, devastatingly so; and she had caught him watching her sing. Well, most men – if not all – stared at her while she sang, but he had a different sort of stare.

Possessive, in a good way, maybe.

Éponine couldn't really tell what was good or not anymore.

Her shift was over for the night; thank the Lord. It had been a particularly strenuous day for whatever reason and she was eager to take a bubble bath and go to bed.

It seemed that Maurice had other plans for her, though.

He stormed into the little house above The Watering Hole, tearing down a calendar from the wall and throwing it across the room. Éponine jumped from the kitchen table and frowned. "What is it now?" she grumbled.

"Damn him! Damn him! _Damn him!_"

Éponine rolled her eyes and took her plate to the sink. "Damn who?"

"George Enjolras, that's who!" Maurice flung his hand out and stalked to the window.

"Who, pray tell, is that?" She picked something from her tooth and leaned on the counter.

"It is none of your concern."

_He had a point there._ She pushed off and went to the stairs. "Goodnight then, Maurice."

He waved his hand. "Eh."

Éponine ran up the stairs and into the attic, which was her own space. As much as she wanted to leave, and as much as she hated Maurice and what he had done, she did have to admit that the space she lived in was nice and she enjoyed singing in the bar. She crossed to the vanity and took off her earrings and pearls and set them away.

Sitting down, she brushed some of her hair back and sighed. George Enjolras. The name sounded familiar. _He must be a regular dealer for Maurice. _Maybe he was that man.. The one at the bar.. She shrugged it off; it wasn't like he'd be able to help her anyway.

Éponine was bound to the speakeasy.

She was the speakeasy's child, as Maurice called her. Born in France, but made for The Watering Hole and The Watering Hole only. That was her sole purpose: to live, eat, and sleep The Watering Hole and its customers.

In other words, Maurice had given her a promotion and she was now to start selling herself as of that Thursday.

Éponine had to get out before then. She would not fall to that; she could not.


	2. The Shiv

**A/N: Thank you all for the follows and reviews! I am very excited for this story, and I hope you are, too. :D I was going to update soon, but the server was down for an ungodly amount of time. Thus, I was unable to update. I am sorry, but it wasn't my fault. (Stupid changes..)**

**Just two shout-outs: **

**To Judy-BB, thank you for being a fabulous beta always!**

**And to Brittany (**_**insignificantramblings**_**), this story wouldn't be possible without you. Thank you oh so much. If any of you haven't read **_**Guilt **_**yet, you're doing life wrong.**

**Remember to read and review, please!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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**The Shiv**

**1920's slang: **_a shiv –_ a knife

.::.

Enjolras, Combeferre, and Grantaire left The Watering Hole quickly, but Enjolras was hardly concerned. All right, he wasn't _that _cold, but he didn't feel much anymore these days. He certainly didn't want Joly to die, but if it happened, it happened. They hailed a cab once they reached the curb and soon they were on their way.

Combeferre was rambling on, trying to debrief Enjolras of the situation. All George caught was something about a shiv. He tuned it all out after that; he would learn the details when he got to the hospital.

They arrived promptly, paid the taxi driver, and then walked into the hospital. Immediately, they turned heads of young nurses. Enjolras was used to it. At first, he was oblivious, and it wasn't until Coufeyrac jokingly made a jab about Enjolras being gay that he finally started to take in the looks of the women around him. It heightened his ego nearly too high and he now walked around like he owned every piece of ground he stepped on.

Enjolras, like the other _Amis _and self-proclaimed "gangsters" around town, wore suit-and-ties nearly every day; sometimes he opted for the fedora, sometimes not. This evening he'd grabbed it just because, but he took it off once entering the hospital; maybe out of respect, but mostly because his forehead was a little too hot. His hair was blondish and slicked back nicely over his head and dear Lord, his blue eyes could break the resolve of a nun. He had the _it _factor everyone was looking for.

He stepped up the the nurse's station and the woman, maybe twenty-four, two years younger than Enjolras, perked up immediately. "What can I do you for?" she asked, too chipper for that time of night.

He leaned on the high counter and squinted his eyes. "I'm here because someone was brought in."

She looked a little confused and faltered, but then pulled over a heavy, _really _filled binder. "Tell me a name, please." She looked up and smiled again, shining her slightly-yellow teeth.

"Harold Joly." Behind him, Grantaire snickered and Enjolras kicked him in the shin. The woman flipped the pages of her book, found a page, and ran her finger down the side, murmuring the names as she went.

"Oh! Here.. Joly. Yeah, he got here two hours ago, I guess." She shrugged. "My shift just started, but I can call somebody down if you're a relation." She raised an eyebrow.

Combeferre slapped his hands on his thighs. "Well, we'll come in the mornin' or-"

Enjolras held up his hand and gave the most devious smile he could muster. "We're.. step-brothers: he and I. Not these two." He flared his nostrils in irritation, gesturing to the men behind him. "They're just tag-alongs."

The girl wrinkled her nose, leaning over to survey Combeferre and Grantaire; she leaned back to look at Enjolras and sighed. "I don't know. He never mentioned having a brother – step-brother, that is."

George ran a hand over his face, groaning. "He was admitted into the hospital because he probably couldn't speak. Look," he glanced at her name-tag. "Nicole, could you please just call someone? A doctor or something to-"

Nicole pursed her lips. "I can let you up," she interrupts; his ears perk. "On one condition."

He nods. "Anything!"

"Give me cash." She leaned forward, a twinkle in her eye.

Cash, or a kiss.

Enjolras set himself up for that one.

He rolled his eyes, practically crawled over the desk, grabbed the sides of her face, and planted a firm one on her lips, pulling away before she knew what hit her. He was beyond done with Nicole; he sniffed once. "Let me up then," he said, face now devoid of any false pleasantries.

.::.

Joly had a bandage wrapped fully around his chest, a red circle of blood in the very middle. Enjolras, having been let up by a now angry Nicole, had made his way easily down the hall; no one bothered to stop him. Now, he stood two feet into the room, twiddling his hands, looking over his shoulder. It was rare that George Enjolras felt nervous; he was usually so calm and collected. But seeing Joly, the one that took care of everyone else, being taken care of by a short, portly nurse made Enjolras want to puke.

The woman finished changing a bandage on Joly's arm and smiled at him. "All set, hon. I'll be back to check on you in an hour." She patted his hand and then turned around, surprised to see Enjolras standing there so quietly. "And who might you be?" She smiled; it was missing some teeth.

He swallowed and looked at Joly, who had an unamused look on his face. "His brother.."

The woman took it instantly. "Okie dokie, then!" She laughed. "Have fun you two." And she waddled out of the room, closing the door behind her firmly.

Enjolras scoffed and shoved his hands in his pockets, stepping further into the dark room. "'Have fun,' she says. Yeah, I'll have a dandy time." He came to the end of the bed; Joly was still silent. "How are you holdin' up?"Joly shrugged, wincing; he lifted his hand to his middle and groaned. Enjolras nodded, raising his eyebrows. "Not too well.."

Joly coughed once and a new trail of blood began flowing from the circle on his bandage. "What even happened?" Enjolras finally asked.

Joly swallowed and raised his hand to his throat. "Angry customer."

Enjolras shook his head. "Bullshit."

Joly smirked, but it turned into a grimace. "Slightly.. I – ah – was trying to get a glass of water. You know how I get nervous when I do drops," he paused to take a breath. "I guess the guy thought I was reaching for a gun or something. He shot me."

Enjolras frowned. "Who was it?"

"Doesn't matter." Joly shifted so his shoulder was slightly at an angle.

"Yes, it does matter. If someone shot you, Joly, I _have _to take care of it!"

Joly looked away. "I said it doesn't matter. And besides, why would you care? I bet you hardly cared when Combeferre told you I was in here. It's like that with all of us, isn't it?" he mumbled. "We're expendable."

Running a hand through his hair, Enjolras took a step back and closed his eyes; he blew out a deep breath and then looked hard at Joly. "Who did it?"

"A bloke named Thenardier."

.::.

Éponine often slipped out of the house at night while Maurice was sleeping and went on long walks throughout the park nearby. Because Chicago was on fire with night-life, there were many couples out strolling after a show or doing last minute shopping. She loved walking through the park, with its humongous trees and the soft orange light from shops cracking through the leaves. It was quiet, compared to the speakeasy. This night in particular was just as quiet and just as relaxing as the last.

She wrapped her coat a little tighter when the chill got too close to her skin. She rounded the bend that took her in front of the local court building and the hardware store. Taking another smaller turn, Éponine walked to the fountain smack-dab in the middle of the park. It was large and marble, always spitting water. There was an angel in the center of it, with a baby on each side; they were the ones responsible for water spitting. Éponine had always thought it was a peculiar water fountain. Not many people came to look at it and she could understand why.

Which, she guessed, was why she found solace there. She could talk to the woman, angel, whatever the hell it was, and spill her fears and dreams without fear that she would tell anyone else.

Éponine looked over her shoulder out of habit and then sat down on the edge of the fountain. It was slightly damp, but she didn't mind. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, there was a loud pop. Several women began screaming and car horns went off; Éponine stood up quickly.

She knew a gun shot when she heard one.

Her gut told her to go home, but her head told her to follow the commotion. So, naturally, she followed her head.

.::.

Enjolras lowered the gun and stared at his handy work. He'd never shot a man before. Sure, he'd shot a gun before. He had to if he wanted to scare people into respecting him.

_It is better to be feared than loved._

But he'd never actually killed anyone. Until now.

In the background he could hear the sirens, but it didn't register until there was the pounding of footsteps from the beginning of the alley. Jumping to attention, he ran straight and took a hard left, coming out on the sidewalk. He could hear a man yell something about him when he found the body, but he kept running for the park across the street.

It only made him look more suspicious, but other people were running for their cars as well although there had only been one gun shot and that was at least five minutes ago. He hoped he blended in well.

As he was running into the park, a body collided with his and the force pushed him back onto the ground. The woman screeched a little and stumbled, but didn't fall. Enjolras, irritated and wanting the safety of his own home, groaned and rubbed his forehead.

"Damn it!" he whispered, standing up.

The woman put her hand on his wrist and helped him stand up, though he was perfectly capable of doing it on his own. "Lord, I'm so sorry!"

Enjolras looked up quickly, eyes wide. _The girl from the bar. _"No. No, I wasn't looking."

She smiled, but looked concerned. "Did you hear that noise?" She pulled her shawl closer and worriedly looked over his shoulder.

He took a deep breath, still a little breathless from the adrenaline and fear; the cops began pulling up the alley way and he looked away, his hands on his hips. "Yeah.. I did."

"What was it?"

"Not sure.. I'm George Enjolras, by the way."

She looked at him and cocked her head. "Éponine."

"Éponine..?"

"Just Éponine." She squinted her eyes. "I should probably go home." He watched her glance at The Watering Hole. _She lived there?_

"It's probably not safe out here. He might be walking around – the guy who did it.."

Éponine was a little confused. This George man wasn't making too much sense, but maybe he was just drunk. In the dim light, he looked vaguely like the man from the bar, earlier that night, but she was too scared to think about it any more.

She nodded and took a few steps back. "You're probably right."

"I'll – I'll walk you, huh? It's the least I can do for running into you." He snickered, despite his racing heart.

She took another hesitant glance at the quickly-mounting crime scene. "Thanks. That would be nice."

Enjolras offered her his arm, and she took it. They began walking in silence toward The Watering Hole when a hand landed on Enjolras shoulder. He took a deep breath and turned around.

An officer stood before him, notepad flipped out. "Good evening," he said, chewing his gum obnoxiously loudly. "Just wanted ta ask you two some questions."

Éponine glanced at Enjolras, whose jaw was set in a tight line. "Sure," she said, finding her voice. "Fire away." She closed her mouth quickly after that, embarrassed at her comment; no one seemed to notice.

"Do eithers of you know what went down other there?" He pointed to the alleyway.

Both shook their heads. Enjolras arm let go of Éponine's; his hand landed on her back. She stiffened.

"Can you describe to me what happened?"

Éponine went first. "I was here, in the park, and I heard a gun shot. So, I went toward it." The officer regarded her with an odd look, wrote something down and then pointed to Enjolras.

"I was with her, of course."

"Do you know a fellow by the name Thenardier?"

Both parties froze. "No," Enjolras said after a moment. "Never heard of him in my life. Neither has Alice here." He squeezed her shoulder and gave her an encouraging smile; Éponine nearly melted.

The officer thanked them and turned to leave. Éponine stepped away from Enjolras and asked, "Was any one hurt?"

"One man dead, that's all. We don't know where the bloke is that did this.." He sighed. "His name was Thenardier. Found some identification papers on him." He lifted up a tiny piece of paper. "We've been looking for him for a long time. Looks like someone beat us to it."

Éponine swallowed and backed away. "Thank you."

"Anytime. You two get inside now. It's not safe."

"Of course." Enjolras took Éponine's arm again and led her away. When they were out of earshot, he turned her toward him. "What was that about?"

Éponine pushed him away from her and took a deep breath – several, actually. "That's my father," she managed to gasp.

Enjolras nearly threw up.


	3. Level With Me

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thanks very much.**

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Level With Me

**1920's slang: **_level with me – _to be honest

.::.

Enjolras kept his cool, though his face had to have broken out into an obvious sweat. He put his hand to his mouth and sighed. "Geez.." He paused. "I'm sorry, Éponine." She had no idea just _how much _he was apologizing for.

The woman shook her head, looking to the pavement. "I hated him."

Enjolras remained silent. He could feel his blood in his ears and his heart had all together stopped working. What on earth had he done?! With shaking limbs, he took a step toward The Watering Hole, unable to say anything more for fear that it would all come spilling out.

"Come on. Let me take you home." He offered her his hand.

Éponine took it, grateful for the company he provided.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

.::.

Éponine could still hear Enjolras and Maurice speaking in hushed tones in the living room. Her previous suspicions that Enjolras was the man from the bar and the man that had angered Maurice earlier on in the day turned out to be true.

They had come up to the house and before Éponine could knock, Maurice had flung the door open. She had expected him to be angry and yell at her for sneaking out, but he ushered the two of them inside, more than worried for his own safety. Éponine then thanked Enjolras quietly and retired to her room, which she had been in for the rest of the night, morning – whatever time it was!

Her father was dead.

She should be crying, wailing into the early morning, but Éponine was more of a bottle-it-all-up girl. She was certainly thinking about it, though. She found it hard to believe that he was dead. While it didn't really _hurt _her, _per se_, it more shocked her. Éponine and her father had never gotten along. Not after what he'd done.

After he'd sold her to Maurice for a couple extra bucks (She went for fifteen dollars at the most!), Éponine had officially turned her back on her family. She hadn't seen her mother, or her brother, or her sister in at least two years.

She figured that she missed how he used to be, when they were children, instead of the person himself He would pull her up onto his knee and tell her a story then send her off to bed. It was simple, quick, the only time she really spoke with him as a child, but that happy memory had a profound effect on Éponine. She wished she could think about that, and only that, when she'd heard he was dead for the first time; instead, she thought of the first time she'd been sent out to scavenge for food, or the first time his fist landed a bit too hard.

Éponine was sitting on her bed cross-legged when there was a knock on the door. She looked at it, face devoid of any emotion. The person knocked again.

"What?"

The door opened and Enjolras' head poked in. His face was more than flushed; he looked like he'd been crying, but Éponine highly doubted that. When he saw she was decently dressed, he sighed and stepped in without any invitation. "How are you, then?"

If it had been Maurice, or anyone else for that matter, Éponine would have told them to buzz off, but the way he had helped her get out of potential law trouble earlier and then how he'd helped her home made Éponine think twice about sending him away. So far, he was proving to be the only decent male around in Chicago, and she'd only known him for an hour and a half, maybe two.

"I'm.. fine."

He leaned on the door frame and crossed his arms. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yes. Thank you for taking me home."

"No trouble." He paused. "I didn't want you to get jumped or something with the killer loose." She nodded again. "I wonder if they'll find him.." He looked over to the circular window above her vanity. The curtains were drawn tight.

"Maybe." She followed his gaze to the window.

He pushed off the door frame and straightened his jacket. "Listen, you just... rest up, okay?"

"Okay." She gave him a half-smile.

Enjolras took a hesitant step away and looked down the hall where Maurice was tapping his foot, impatient. "I'll see you around."

.::.

By the time Enjolras got back to _Le Musain _it was nearly four o'clock in the morning. He'd taken the long route home: through Main Street, past the hospital, and into the countryside, then winding back into the edge of town.

_Le Musain_ was a large warehouse _Les Amis _had found abandoned when they began bootlegging. It then became their sanctuary, their home. Some of them called it "the café" because of what they made there, but it was mostly just home to Enjolras.

He opened the front door as quietly as he could, but the chains and padlock that locked the door jingled loudly and slammed against the door when it shut. He cursed and then shrugged; someone was bound to wake up soon any way. Mostly everyone was early risers.

Sure enough, Jehan was the first one to come around the corner, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He stopped and looked at Enjolras when he finally saw him. "There you are!" He laughed. "We were slightly worried."

"I'm sure you were," Enjolras said, shrugging off his jacket; he took off his hat and put it on the hanger.

Jehan frowned and went over to the kitchen sort of thing. Seeing as how most of the men either didn't take the time to learn how to cook or didn't give two craps about what they ate as long as they had some beer to go with it, the kitchen was really just a couple of counters and a barely working icebox. Jehan found an apple that wasn't too old and handed it to Enjolras.

"You look beat, you should go to bed."

Enjolras took the apple and raised it in appreciation. "Thanks, Jehan. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Enjolras. Or shall I say, good morning."

Enjolras winced and then left the room, seeking the solace of his own room. Since the warehouse was so huge, finding alone time wasn't so hard. Each man had his own room, some big in size, some smaller. Enjolras' was a middle sized room: bare concrete floor like the rest, a small window that looked over onto a busy road, one double bed, one desk, one mirror, one painting, one really worn rug. Some men had outfitted their rooms to be extravagant or well-fitting to their personalities.

Jehan was the poster-child for extravagance. He had found some old paint and painted murals of different cities on the wall: New York City, Paris, London. He'd bought vibrant rugs and planted flowers in pots on the windowsill. That's just how Jehan was.

Or Feuilly ran a tiny fan making business from his room which opened out onto the street; and Grantaire did his art in his room; Combeferre's room was basically a library.

Enjolras' was just.. empty.

When he reached the door to his room, Grantaire was already waiting there. "What did you do?" He was referring to the way Enjolras' had stormed out of the hospital, not telling anyone where he was headed off to.

"Nothing." Enjolras shrugged past Grantaire and kicked off his shoes.

Grantaire closed the door behind him. "You can tell me."

"Can I?" Enjolras looked into the mirror and picked something out from in between his teeth.

Grantaire hesitated. "Of course. Unless you killed someone." He laughed nervously. "Then I'd have to do something about it!" Enjolras looked at Grantaire with a dead seriousness in his eyes. Grantaire took a step back, running into the door. "Shit, Enjolras. What did you do?"

"Guess."

"You killed him, the man who hurt Joly."

Enjolras pulled off his shirt. "Bingo."

Grantaire turned to face the wall. "Dear God."

"It was on accident." Enjolras shrugged and grabbed a thinner cotton shirt. "I mean, I didn't mean to kill him."

"But you still shot him."

"Yeah.." He picked at his tooth again. "You can't tell anyone." Enjolras glanced at Grantaire and raised his eyebrows.

"How can I not? They.. They'll probably have a search out for whoever did this! Which will be you, but I can't say anything!"

"Exactly. You can't tell anyone," he repeated. "I'm serious, Grantaire. If you tell anyone, I might have to kill you, too." Enjolras didn't mean it; it was an empty threat, but just to get his point across, Enjolras would say what was necessary. He nearly laughed when R gulped loudly.

"I swear I won't tell anyone," Grantaire whispered.

"Good." Enjolras pointed to the door. "Now get."

He'd never seen Grantaire move faster in all his life.

.::.

Three days passed with little news on the shooting and the killer. It was on the front page of the paper the next morning, but nearly nothing had been said about attempts to find the man who did it, for which Enjolras was grateful. He had expected to be consumed with guilt, but he had done it for Joly and for his business, so he felt.. fine, normal.

He went on with his life, but Grantaire was plagued with thoughts of what could happen to him, or to Enjolras. He didn't go minutes without thinking about it, worrying that the next customer actually willing to buy his art could be a cop, asking questions about who he knew, and what they had done. He wasn't sure he could keep the secret under all that pressure.

Thursday evening, Enjolras went to The Watering Hole to make the delivery like he'd promised Maurice. He was able to make it that evening solely because the other customer was unable to make the drop at the time. After business had been done, Maurice invited Enjolras, Bahorel, and Courfeyrac inside for some drinks – on the house, of course.

The three readily accepted and came inside, speaking loudly about the prank Courfeyrac had pulled on Jehan earlier that morning. After three full, full pints of beer, Enjolras was drunk. He'd always not been able to hold his liquor very well, which was odd considering he ran a bootlegging business. The other boys made fun of him for it, but he didn't care.

Maurice came over to the trio and asked them to lay off the drinks for a moment so he could ask them another question. They complied easily, eager to know what he wanted.

"I have a new little side business opening tonight," he said, malicious grin on his face, leaning closer to the boys.

"What is it?" Courfeyrac slurred, smiling.

"Girls," was all Maurice said; it was all they needed to hear to understand.

Courfeyrac was first to nominate Enjolras as the first customer (Which was a lie, but Maurice didn't feel like breaking the poor boy's heart). He quickly declined, shaking his head. Girls weren't his thing; people weren't really his thing. They pushed and pushed, though, and since he was so drunk, Enjolras finally stumbled into the back room, cursing up a storm about equal rights and how this wasn't fair to her.

"One hour, five dollars. Two hours, ten dollars," Maurice had said. Maurice shut the door behind him, laughing with the other two, bidding them a good time, clutching his five dollars.

Enjolras took a look around the dimly lit, small room, looking for the girl, ready to tell her to keep her clothes on because he wanted none of this. He found her sitting in a chair, reading a book. She looked up when he came in and scrambled out of the chair.

Enjolras couldn't really make out her face, so he sat down in the nearby chair and rubbed his eyes. "I don't wanna do this so you can just sit down," he said while his eyes were closed.

When he opened his eyes, he expected to be warding her off; he probably shouldn't have sat down. Who knows? She might want to do this. She applied for the job, after all. But when he opened his now clear eyes, he looked at her and jumped out of the seat.

"Éponine!"

* * *

**I guess I keep ending these on "cliff-hangers," but I like doing that. Thank you so much for your continued support. **

**Love, Jess**


	4. Bronx Cheer

**A/N: All of your reviews are making me laugh. People seem to really enjoy this story; that makes me so happy!**

**(Side note: The only reason this chapter is actually good is because I got a random idea halfway through and then I went back and made a lot of changes. And thanks to Brittany, the idea will work.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please and thank you.**

* * *

Bronx Cheer

**1920's slang: **_bronx cheer – _a loud, sputtering noise generally indicating disapproval or shock. Similar to a raspberry.

.::.

Éponine could feel her hands shaking and her legs quaking beneath her. Enjolras had a mixture of both shock and understanding painted across his face; he wobbled slightly, too drunk to stand. After swallowing hard, he pointed around the room.

"What.. what are you doing in here?"

Éponine felt a burst of anger in the pit of her stomach. "Isn't it obvious?" she growled. Enjolras shrugged and fell back into the chair behind his legs. Éponine knew, and was thankful, she wasn't going to get any payment from him. He was too drunk to understand what was going on, even if he did understand that she was now a prostitute. She'd had three men already that night, each rougher than the last.

All she wanted was to sleep; even if it was just for a moment.

After a long pause, Éponine pulled a silk robe off of the back of a chair and shrugged it on. She looked at Enjolras, who was looking at her, his mouth open, slightly drooling. She frowned. "I'm going upstairs now.."

He shook his head and grabbed the whiskey from the table beside him; he took another drink. "Just sit here. Talk to me."

Éponine sighed; she glanced at the door. How much time did he have? An hour? _Rest. _She could rest. Slowly, wincing, she sat down in the chair. He wouldn't do anything; he'd made that clear already.

But, as the hour dragged on and he drank more, he inched closer and closer. He got so incredibly close she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. Éponine closed her eyes and touched her aching forehead.

_He'd promised._

He went back on his "promise."

.::.

Afterward, Éponine puked, several times. She'd expected him to be slower, gentler, because he was so drunk. She was wrong. If anything, he'd been worse.

Maurice only said one thing to her that evening: "Rest is for the weak, Éponine. You are not weak."

She certainly felt that way.

.::.

The days that past afterward were uneventful. It was the same old routine for Éponine: wake up, wait for evening, sing a little, degrade herself. For Enjolras, it was more of a day by day thing. He would have one day that was slow, barely any drops were made, or another day where he had men running all over the streets of Chicago, trying to make the drops as fast as possible in order to get to the next one.

He didn't remember the evening in which Éponine had nearly given herself to him; she did.

Three weeks after that night, he went back to The Watering Hole – alone. Enjolras had heard that Maurice had opened up the back rooms to run an extra business; he wasn't sure what for, but he was eager to find out. He stepped into the always haze-filled room and found it to be oddly quiet and empty.

Éponine was up at the microphone again, singing, as per usual. This time, though, he noted that she was lacking her usual luster. There was something off. She usually was into the song, moving along in time to the beat, but now, she stood, nearly stock still, only her hands moving, if need be.

He shrugged it off. _Maybe she is just having a bad day_, he thought, pulling out a chair from a table. While he waited for Maurice, or one of the other employees, to come over and take his order, he contemplated going up and asking her what was wrong; after she sang, of course. Enjolras wasn't a particularly sentimental man, but he liked to figure that he and Éponine had some sort of relationship forming. After all, he'd been with her when her dad was murdered. Well, when he'd...

It didn't matter anymore.

What really mattered was that the service was so unbearably slow and Enjolras was about to have a fit. He'd already gone through two cigarettes, and if he even lit the third and no one had come by to serve him, he'd pull his business right out of Maurice's. Just as he picked up his third cigarette, someone came up to his table. He sighed and threw the cigarette onto the table; it bounced and hit the candle in the center. He leaned back and looked up, expecting to see Maurice or Claude, but instead, he was greeted with the stern face of Éponine.

He sat straighter and frowned. "I was wondering if-" he started, but was cut off when her tiny fist connected with his nose.

It wasn't much of a punch; in fact, it did no damage at all. But it sent Enjolras flying back and his chair onto the floor. That's what shock can do to you. Immediately, Enjolras was up. He could feel his temper flaring and there was nothing he could do to control it. He grabbed Éponine's wrist and jerked it upward. She cringed and flung her other hand toward the side of his head; he caught that one too.

"Come with me," he growled, well aware of all the eyes trained on them. He dropped her left wrist and pulled her out the side door into the alleyway beside the building. "What do you think you're doing?!" he yelled, dropping her other wrist, putting at least three and a half feet between them.

Éponine brushed herself off and took a step toward him. "What do you think _you're _doing?"

"I'm trying to figure out why in the hell you punched me!"

"You know exactly why." Éponine put her hands on her hips. "Three weeks ago you-"

Enjolras scoffed. "You think I can remember back to three weeks ago?"

"You can if you try!" She sighed. "Just listen to me before I punch you again."

"Punch?" He laughed loud and short. "You call that a punch?!"

Éponine made an irritated noise and hit his shoulder. "Listen to me, dammit!"

Enjolras swallowed a smile. His anger was settling down. She was just too fiery and too serious when she was angry; it was hard to take seriously. He nodded and furrowed his brow slightly. "Okay. I'll listen.."

"Three weeks ago, Maurice opened up-"

"The back business, yes. I've heard." Enjolras crossed his arms.

Éponine rolled her eyes. "Do you know what the business is?" He shook his head; she groaned and raised her hands into the air. "Girls, Enjolras!_ Prostitutes!_" She ground the word out like it was sand between her teeth.

He looked startled, and her anger grew as a result. Did he really not know, not remember, what he had done?

"What does that have to do with you punching me?" It was common practice for mini-brothels to be opened up behind, or even in, speakeasies.

Éponine could hold it in any longer. She stamped her foot on the ground and squeezed her eyes shut; she didn't want to see his face when she told him. "You used me, Enjolras," she whispered. "And now, I'm pregnant."

There was a longer silence than either of them had ever heard before. Enjolras swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. "Pregnant?" She nodded. "It's.. it's not mine." He said it as a statement, not a question.

Éponine felt tears pool into her eyes. She was so scared, so lost, so damn alone. "That's just it: I don't know."

Enjolras closed his eyes and backed away. He picked up the nearest bottle and threw it against the wall; it rained down onto the sidewalk. "It's not mine," he repeated.

Éponine nodded. "That may be true. Three were three men before you."

"Dear God.." Enjolras twitched his nose and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Does Maurice still.. Is he making.." He couldn't finish his sentence.

Éponine nodded. "Yes. I'm still working. Just until I start to show."

Enjolras pulled on hand from his pocket and rubbed his chin. "Well," he cleared his throat. "Thank you for telling me. I'll.. speak to Maurice." He swallowed again, his nerves rising. "I hope.. everything turns out in the way you.. wish it." He turned around and took several steps toward the front of the building, eager to leave as quickly as possible.

He had a lot to think through.

"That's it?!" She called after him. Enjolras stopped, but did not turn around. He could hear her step closer. "What if it is yours?"

Enjolras turned around and gave her a defiant and settling stare. "Whatever you may think, I am _not _it's father."

.::.

Éponine was distraught. The only good thing that had come out of telling Enjolras was that he had forced Maurice to stop with the short-lived brothel. Other than being finally free from at least part of her life, Éponine was still tied too tight to The Watering Hole and on top of that she was pregnant. And on top of _that_, she had no idea who the father was.

She felt like her life was crashing in.

First her father's death.

Then the separate business opened up.

Then she found out she was pregnant.

The only thing she wanted was to get out of Chicago, get out of the crummy "home" she was in, and make it big. That wouldn't happen now; not with a child.

She sat at her vanity that night, her head cradled in her cheeks, staring into the mirror. Maybe Maurice would let her go, now that her father was dead. Wouldn't that make their agreement null?

The door opened behind her and he stepped in. "I won't let you go, kiddo," he said. "Just cause yer dad is dead and you got a bun in the oven doesn't mean you won't make me money. So quit dreaming and go to sleep. You need to rest your voice."

Éponine opened her mouth to retort, but he held up his hand. "A woman in your condition is in no place to argue. You're lucky I didn't kick you out. What happens when this kid comes, eh? How you gonna take care of it and sing at the same time?" She remained silent. "Exactly! I don't know either. But you better start thinkin' 'cause that kid'll be here before you know it."

He gave her one last long look and then shut the door, switching out the lamp behind the door, effectively cutting her off from the rest of the world. Éponine looked back at her reflection.

"I'll give it away," she whispered, rubbing her nose. "I'll give it away."

.::.

Enjolras told Grantaire what Éponine had said once he returned to the warehouse.

It was odd; their relationship had completely changed ever since Enjolras had admitting to killing Éponine's father. Enjolras trusted Grantaire now; Grantaire had a way to get Enjolras to do as he pleased.

Grantaire was less than surprised. He was sure it was bound to happen sometime. He knew that Enjolras wasn't as _chaste _as everyone else found him to be. It was only a matter of time before he got one of the girls pregnant.

Grantaire figured it was Enjolras who was the father.

He just felt it in his gut. While Enjolras was trying to appear to be more nonchalant about it, Grantaire could see right through his guise. George Enjolras was scared, terrified. If he had some woman out there with-child, what would that do to the business when the baby came along? What the hell was he supposed to do? He hardly new anything about babies, let alone women?!

Grantaire offered the only comfort he knew to give. "At least it wasn't Sally." He shrugged.

Sally was Combeferre's live-in girl. If Sally had been the one to get pregnant, Grantaire knew Enjolras would kick her out and then Combeferre would go too and eventually the whole bootlegging jig would fall apart.

Enjolras groaned and waved his hand away from Grantaire, sending him away. The other man rolled his eyes and walked away. Enjolras sat back in his chair. If he was the father..

He didn't want to think about it.

He didn't want to own up to what he had done.

Twice now Enjolras had done something terrible against Éponine.

And the awful thing was he liked her. A lot more than he was willing to admit.

* * *

**That's that, folks. Make sure to tell me what you're thinking. :D**


	5. Carry a Torch

**A/N: Sorry for more of the wait! School is super busy (Freakin' AP!). On a brighter note, we go to the Renaissance Faire next Wednesday and I'm so stoked. Also, gosh, this week's episode of **_**Downton Abbey **_**was really intense and I'm still not sure I know how to take it.**

**(For future reference in this chapter: a bird – a girlfriend, lover.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Carry a Torch

**1920's slang: **_to carry a torch –_ to have a crush on someone

.::.

A few days passed before Enjolras had the guts to go back to The Watering Hole. In truth, he had no choice; he had a delivery to give to Maurice. He hoped it would be a quick drop, but he'd brought Grantaire and Jehan along, just in case.

Joly was out of the hospital; finally. He was still weak, but he had always been on the slightly weak side. Enjolras was just glad he was okay.

Since it was the middle of the day, Enjolras figured Éponine wasn't going to be there, or at least she wouldn't be awake. Things were still slightly on the rocks with him and Maurice. Ever since Enjolras had closed Maurice's second business, Maurice was first outraged and then simply silent. Enjolras, outraged as well, had taken his leave very quickly. At first, it seemed like he would loose a customer, but Enjolras knew without his gin, Maurice would be out of a job.

Grantaire, giddy to finally be out in the town after too long in the warehouse, nearly kicked the front door open with glee. He rushed inside and took a seat at the bar and was promptly served his usual; Jehan followed suit. Enjolras took his time and greeted several men sitting at tables in the dimly lit room.

Dr. Charles Charles, who wasn't even at doctor at all and whose parents had the audacity to give him the same first name as his last, shook his hand. "George, my boy, tell me: when are you going to come down to my house for supper? The missus has been mighty anxious to see you."

Enjolras smiled genuinely. Dr. Charles and his wife, Abby, had become like his second parents after his own died. In truth, it had been _too long _since he'd been over to their farm. He winked. "Would tonight be too early to spring it on her?"

Charles laughed, his stomach shaking with the effect. "Ah, hell no! You come on over at seven and we'll have a place set just for you!" He jabbed his pointer finger onto Enjolras' slim chest. "And before you go, you got a bird, son?"

Enjolras sighed. "No, sir. And I'm not looking for one!" He looked over at the counter where it seemed that Grantaire was taking care of business with Maurice for Enjolras. Good; it saved him the awkwardness. He looked back at Charles and took the seat across from him.

"That's a pity, because my daughter, Molly, she's comin' over for the evening, too." He lit a cigar and put it into his mouth, raising his eyebrows.

Enjolras swallowed; he remembered Molly from when he'd been a younger man. "Will she be?" He tried, in vain, to keep his voice under control.

Charles smirked. "Yes, sir." He leaned back when the front door opened and another man walked in, making eye contact and waving to the elder man. "Well, I'll see you tonight, then, Georgey."

Enjolras slid out of the chair and nodded, making room for the man who had just walked in. "Yes, sir. Ah.. goodbye." He twitched his nose and walked away, stiff.

Once he reached the bar, he was quickly served. Jehan took a side-long glance at his friend. "What has you in the dumps, my friend?"

Enjolras started, forgetting he'd brought anyone along. He looked at Jehan and sighed a breath of relief. "Nothing, Jehan." He laughed, staring into his mug.

"Well, something must be wrong, or at least humorous, if you're laughing."

"I've got a dinner-date," he said, swiveling his chair around to look out into the speakeasy.

Grantaire, confused, jumped off his chair and stood in front of Enjolras. "A what?"

"A dinner-date," he repeated; then cleared his throat and explained. "Well, not really. It's only to the Charles' home, but their daughter is going to be there."

Jehan instantly perked up. "Really?! What's her name?"

"Molly."

He put his cheek in his hand. "She sounds wonderful already."

Grantaire put his hand up. "Wait, I'm – I'm confused."

Enjolras rolled his eyes and turned back around; Grantaire moved to the right side of his friend, hoping he was far enough way so Jehan couldn't hear him. He lowered his voice. "What about Éponine?"

Enjolras froze; he'd nearly forgot about her. "What about her?" he asked, looking forward, taking a slow slip.

"Don't play that! _What about Éponine?!_"

Enjolras sighed. "There is nothing for me to consider." He tipped his hat to the man at the counter and got off the chair he was sitting on. "We had no relationship, Grantaire." The two walked to the door, with Jehan running to catch up behind. Enjolras continued, "I – I have no reason to think about her."

"Doesn't seem that way to me." Grantaire pulled out a cigarette. "You keep talking." He smirked. "You could have just told me there was nothing for you to consider."

Enjolras glared at R's back at he walked away, proud of himself.

.::.

By seven o'clock, Enjolras was headed down the main road very quickly. He'd be late for dinner (which he'd already figured out when he only left the warehouse at five till), but that wasn't anything new. Finally, ten minutes past eight, Enjolras pulled down the long, dirt driveway that stopped in front of the Charles' barn. He cut the ignition and looked into the review mirror, checking his hair.

He didn't really know why he was so nervous. Was he nervous? Did he even know what that felt like? It wasn't like he felt uncomfortable around the Charles family; on the contrary. But, how long had it been since he'd seen Molly? Four.. maybe five years? Long enough since she'd left for art school (Why on earth she wanted to study art was beyond him!), long enough for changes to have occurred, between them both.

Enjolras pushed his door open and slid out, shutting it firmly behind him. Abby rushed out onto the front porch – apron, wooden spoon and all – her arms high in the air. "Georgey! Georgey!" She stepped down two wooden steps and pulled Enjolras into a hug so tight he nearly collapsed. When she pulled away, she patted his cheek a few times, her smile so big it made his own mouth hurt.

"Hello, Abby," he said, a slightly embarrassed smile on his face. It was amazing how people changed him. As much as he hated it, when he was with the boys, he was mean, stern faced, and cold. But when he got around Abby and Charles, he was softer, shy even.

"How are you, darling?" She led him up the steps and to the front screen-door. "Come in, come in! Oh! I am so happy to see you."

They entered the warm house. It smelled like apple pie and general Americana. Charles was a farmer; he always had been and he always would be. But he was a farmer in Chicago. Well, not Chicago, a farming town about an hour away from the city. He took off his hat and shrugged off his jacket, fixing his tie. Abby hung them both on a rack.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he said, rubbing his hands together.

Abby smiled, patting his shoulder. "No, sweetie, no. It gave me more time to get ready." He nodded his appreciation for her consideration. There was no way it took Abby an hour to "get ready."

"Well, come in! I'm as hungry as a damn – damn.. Just get in here!" Charles yelled from the table. Abby shooed Enjolras in and he took one last look in a mirror on the wall and then walked into the dining room.

He let out a breath.

Molly wasn't there.

Trying not to look surprised or disappointed, Enjolras shook Charles' hand and took the single chair on the left side. He couldn't help but notice there were four plates at the table.

"Glad you could make it, kiddo." Charles elbowed Enjolras. "The women are getting the supper," he filled in.

Enjolras folded his hands in his lap and nodded. In the back of his mind, he thought of Grantaire earlier at The Watering Hole mentioning Éponine. It shouldn't bother him that he felt bad for being exciting about seeing Molly. After all, he _wasn't _the father...

Before he could get too deep into his thoughts, Abby came bustling in, pot roast in hand. She put it on the table and sat down on the other end. That left Molly in front of Enjolras.

Great.

Maybe she would be unappealing?

He hoped so, yet didn't, at the same time.

"Molly!" Abby hollered after a few moments of tense silence. "What is taking so long?"

"I'm sorry, Mama! The – the bread.. It's not.. _Argh!_" There was a loud crash.

All three members sitting at the table jumped and then broke into smiles. Abby moved to stand up, but Enjolras waved at her. "I'll help," he offered, standing up and leaving the table before she could argue.

With timid feet, he entered the kitchen. Molly was crouched on the ground, scooping up pieces of broken glass and putting them into a trash can by her side. He only saw the back of her, but then she stood up and turned around.

He about fell over.

That _was not _Molly Charles.

From what little he could remember, Molly Charles was short, rather pimply, on the chubby side, and dirty blond. The Molly Charles that stood before him was tall, clean faced, still a pleasing full figure, and a beautiful brunette. She, unfazed by Enjolras, or seemingly so, held up two large pieces of glass.

"I broke the bread bowl."

He nodded. "I – We heard." He moved and began picking up the pieces with her. They worked in silence, an awkward silence, and then stood up in unison when they were done. She thanked him and pulled another bowl out of a cabinet and filled it with the still-warm bread.

Before they went back into the dining room, she turned to him and smiled. "It's good to see you again, George."

He nodded, gulping. "Yeah.. You, too."

She went into the dining room, leaving him behind, stunned.

.::.

Dinner proceeded easily. Once the ice was broken, Enjolras was surprised to find out that Molly had switched from learning about art to traveling abroad with her cousins. She hadn't attended school, but felt that what she learned from personal experience made up for anything she could have learned in a classroom. Plus, there wasn't much money to being with that would have payed for her schooling.

They talked about the crops and the animals. The winter would be on them soon and Charles was a little nervous this winter would be a bad one. Abby was busy with making quilts and delivering babies in her spare time. Enjolras explained a little of his business, but he felt ashamed of it when Molly was around. It was evident she was a firm believer in the law, although Charles was Enjolras' biggest supporter.

When dinner was finished and Abby practically ordered Enjolras and Molly to take a walk while she and Charles cleaned up, Enjolras was fuller than he had been in awhile. The night air was chilly, but comfortable. And it was quiet. That was the nicest part.

"So," Molly began once they were pretty far from the house. "This business of yours.."

He laughed nervously. "Yes?"

"What is it? You hardly said anything about it at dinner, but it sounds intriguing."

"Does it?" He ran a hand over his clean-shaven face. "Well, I started it a few years ago-"

"I already know that!" She laughed. "I want to know _about _it. What do you do?"

He looked over at a grove of trees and stopped walking, shoving his hands into his pockets. Molly stopped, too, and faced him; she looked even more beautiful in the moonlight than he could have ever imagined. Much like Éponine when he'd shot.. That wasn't what he was thinking about.

"I sell things."

She lightly pushed his arm. "What sort of things?!"

"Alcohol."

She paused; he cringed, waiting for the worst. "Oh."

That was the worst answer he could have ever received. He would have much rather she yell at him than just say one word! "Oh?! That's it? This is illegal stuff here, Molly!"

"I know." She continued to walk. "I'm not surprised, really. You have an.. illegal sort of look to you now."

He laughed at this, feeling that she was.. at ease with the idea of what he did. "Do I?"

"You look much more grown up." She stopped walking again.

"You, too," he whispered. "I was surprised when I nearly didn't recognize you."

She laughed. "I'm not the same gangly girl I once was."

"No." He shook his head. "You aren't."

"I'm in town for three weeks, maybe longer. I'm just trying to get my hold on life right now."

"What are you imply?" He smirked and licked his lips.

"Nothing." She smiled devilishly and began walking back for the house. "But you can call on me any day you wish, George. I'd be happy for you to take me out."

* * *

**Wow. Those characters that aren't supposed to mean anything but then just take control and.. just.. **

**That was a lot. Now there is a potential girl in the way; oh no! Don't forget to drop a review!**


	6. Ossified

**A/N: I'm super sorry this update took so long!  
**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Ossified

**1920's slang: **_ossified –_ a drunk person.

.::.

Enjolras did as Molly bade and he called on her three days later. He drove out, once again, to the Charles' home and walked to the front door, knocking twice. He wore his best suit; but why was a mystery to him. It wasn't like he.. liked her or anything, right? She was just an old friend...

It took a few moments, but the dark green door finally opened. Molly stood behind it, her back toward him. She hollered something to her mother and then turned and smiled; she opened the screen door and hopped through.

Enjolras gave a tentative smile. "You look.. beautiful." Indeed, she did look beautiful. She wore a deep purple dress that flared around her waist and black shoes. He liked it when a girl wasn't too dressed up.

She laughed and linked her arm with his. "Thanks. You clean up well, too." There was a slightly awkward pause. "Are we going then?"

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry." He chuckled and walked her to the car, opening the door for her. She slid in and shut the door behind her with a wink. Enjolras scurried over to his side and jumped in, starting the ignition and tearing out of the driveway.

Molly squealed and held onto the handle above her head. Enjolras just smirked.

.::.

They reached The Watering Hole in record time. When he had thought through the plan for their.. date.. the first idea that came to mind was The Watering Hole; then he'd reconsidered. It'd been awhile since he'd gone. Not because of Éponine, that wasn't why he'd stopped making as many trips as he'd used. Well, that's what he was telling himself...

Molly was rather winded when they arrived; excited, but winded. She turned to Enjolras, fixed a piece of her hair, and smiled. "If my Dad knew you drove that fast, he'd kill you." She took a deep breath.

Enjolras swallowed and shut off the car. He shrugged. "Not many people drive nowadays. I use that to my advantage." He winked and slid out of the car, rounding it to open her door. Molly grinned, took his hand, and they walked slowly to the front door.

Enjolras suddenly felt his heart in his throat. What if he saw Éponine? What if she saw him _with _Molly? He soldiered on, though, and they walked through the door into the bustling speakeasy. For a Friday night, it was exceptionally crowded; Enjolras was thankful. It lowered the chances of him running into Éponine.

Putting his hand on Molly's lower back, he led her to a booth in the corner. She sat down and took in her surroundings. "Geez. I've never been somewhere like this before."

He nodded. "It's quite loud tonight." He glanced at the stage; still no sign of her.

"I don't mind." Molly shook her head, her waves bobbing. "So, George, tell me, what is it that you do for a living?"

"I told you," he began, rolling his eyes to feign irritation. "I dabble. A little of everything."

"A Renaissance man?"

"You could say that." He laughed and leaned back in his chair. "But what are _you _going to do while you're in town?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. A little bit of everything." Molly smiled. "Maybe be a waitress for awhile.. I'd like to move here, in the city."

"Really? Not a fan of country living?"

Molly sighed. "It's not that.. I just want to get out on my own.."

"I understand."

Molly brightened quickly, though. "So, what's good to eat here?"

.::.

Éponine, behind the counter, held her hand to her stomach. God, the smells were awful tonight. She wasn't too far into her pregnancy; two months at best. She hardly showed and though the morning sickness was slowly going away, food was both a blessing and curse. Working, too, was draining.

She'd seen Enjolras twice since she'd told him: once, when he made a delivery; the second time when Maurice called him in for a five minute chat. He didn't see her, or he just avoided looking at her.

Éponine wasn't hurt, per se. She couldn't care less about him.. She was more drifting. She drifted through her days and her nights, just trying to find some idea for what to do. The idea of giving the baby away seemed best at the moment. She'd talked to several potential families already. Each once seemed absolutely wonderful, but she'd yet to make a choice on whether or not she _would _be giving it away.

Slowly filling another glass, Éponine blinked a few times and took a deep breath. Arthur, another employee, hopped up behind her. "Hey, Ép," he said, grabbing a glass.

Éponine shot him a side-long glance. "Hello, Arthur."

"You doin' okay tonight?" Arthur was the only other employee besides Maurice who knew about her pregnancy. He'd caught her throwing up one morning and he'd figured it out in a jiff. She was grateful for his friendship.

"Yeah. A little woozy. All the smells, you know.."

He laughed. "Yeah. I remember when Liz was pregnant; she almost wore a clothespin over her nose. You could try that," he offered. Liz was Arthur's wife, who was pregnant with their third child. One would call him an expert in pregnacy.

"I'll pass." Éponine laughed and went back to work. Maurice came up behind her and patted her shoulder. "Table sixteen, please, m'dear."

"Yes, sir."

She meandered over to the table, opened her notepad, and sighed. "What can I get for you today?" A glass fell to the floor and shattered. Éponine drew in a sharp breath and looked up. Of course.. Enjolras and a date.

.::.

Molly flinched when the glass fell to the floor and Enjolras cursed. She put a hand on his arm and slid out from the table, bending down to pick up the shards along with the waitress. Molly handed them to the woman and blushed.

"We're really sorry," she whispered, sliding back in beside Enjolras, who still remained silent.

"It's fine, it's fine," the girl said, straightening herself. "Anyway, I'm Éponine-"

"I'm Molly." Enjolras cringed. "This is George."

Éponine smiled sweetly. "Nice to meet you both. Now, what can I get for you?"

Enjolras cleared his throat. "You know, I know this place pretty well, Molly, I'll just go up. Éponine doesn't have to bother serving us. I'm sure she has better things to do.."

Molly faltered, but nodded. Enjolras nearly jumped out of the booth and grabbed Éponine's elbow, pulling her out of sight before the bar. "What are you doing?" he whispered.

Éponine frowned. "My damn job! What are you doing?"

"Trying to get some peace from you!"

Éponine crossed her arms and looked over Enjolras' shoulder. She could vaguely make out Molly, looking around the room. "Who's that?"

"None of your business."

He had her there. "Fine.."

"I thought you weren't supposed to be working," he said, looking the tiniest bit concerned.

"I'm fine now!" She scoffed. "What would you know?"

Enjolras threw up his hands. "Nothing! That's why I'm asking you, dammit!"

Éponine sighed. There was no point in them fighting; it wouldn't get her anywhere. "Enjolras, look. It doesn't matter to me what you do with your life. Even if this was your baby, I wouldn't want you involved. I've decided to give it away; I have a few families interested. I just can't.. deal with the stress of having a child right now."

Enjolras swallowed. He blinked rapidly and took a step back. "You're going to.. give it away?"

She nodded. "Yes."

It shouldn't have affected him – the child wasn't his, after all – but it did. Enjolras lowered his eyes, then looked over his shoulder. "Look, I'm a little busy right now, but I'd like to talk about this. When are you off?"

Éponine, somber for once, shook her head. "I'm not off."

Slightly confused, Enjolras disregarded her comment. "I'll come get you tomorrow afternoon. It's a Saturday. You wont be working."

And without another word, he turned and went back to Molly.

.::.

The night ended easily. After the debacle with the shattering glass and Éponine revealing that she would give the baby away, it was a miracle that Enjolras was able to pay any attention to Molly. But she seemed to have some sort of understanding.

The drove home, this time slower, at around one o'clock the next morning. Enjolras could tell Molly wasn't used to staying out that late. She would lean her head against the window, fall asleep for a few seconds, and then wake up with a start, apologizing quietly. He only chuckled.

They nearly tiptoed to the front door in fear that they would wake her parents up, but she was more than a little tipsy and Enjolras just appeased her for humor's sake. Molly giggled while fumbling with her key so much that Enjolras eventually took it from her and opened the door himself. Molly regained herself and nodded once.

"Thank you, kind sir," she whispered, her cheeks flushed. "I had a swell time."

Enjolras nodded. "Me, too."

"We'll have to do it again, but only if _I _can choose where to go." She winked and pushed his shoulder with her pointer finger. Enjolras laughed and nodded.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now," she huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a royal fashion. "I bid you a good-night!" She put out her hand. "You may kiss my hand."

Enjolras shook his head, smirking, pulling his hands from his pockets. He took her right hand with his own and pressed a soft kiss to it. He pulled away and then moved in to kiss her cheek, but she turned left and her lips fell against his. Enjolras was shocked, yes, but pleasantly so. He allowed the kiss to go on because, hell, he liked her!

She pulled away at last, a little breathless, and blushed. "I'm.."

"Don't apologize."

"Okay." She paused. "Goodnight, George," she whispered.

"Goodnight, Molly."

.::.

Back at home, Enjolras walked in on a rousing game of poker being played on the living room floor. Several girls he didn't recognize were present, as well as some men. Everyone quieted for a moment when he walked in, taking off his jacket and hat.

Finally, Grantaire spoke. "So, how was the date?!"

Enjolras turned around from the coat-hanger. "Splendid."

* * *

**I think it should at least be a week or so before I can update again. It's getting really busy here. Maybe sooner; hopefully. **

**Thank you all for your understanding!**


	7. Mrs Grundy

**A/N: **_**Hopefully**_** this "interlude" is nearly over. Maybe.. a week or so more and then I can try to get back onto updating more regularly. Thank you for your patience!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Mrs. Grundy

**1920's slang: **_Mrs. Grundy – _a priggish or extremely tight-laced person.

.::.

Saturday morning rolled around too fast for Enjolras' liking. Around noon he rolled out of bed and plunged his face into the bowl of fresh water sitting on his dresser still dressed in his clothes from the previous day. He wasn't hungover, _per se_; just exhausted and there was a massive headache forming in the back of his head. So, he was only _slightly _hungover...

Even so, the lads could definitely tell when he walked out for breakfast. They all stopped talking when he came close enough to the table to hear. But Enjolras wasn't stupid; he knew they were talking about him and Molly. He didn't care. Let them think what they want.

He poured himself a glass of tea and rubbed his forehead. He glanced at the clock and yelled, "Shit!" Throwing down his cup (It was a feat that it didn't shatter.) and rushing toward the door, he barely managed to grab his shoes, much less his hat. Once the door closed behind him and he was halfway down the drive to his car, _Les Amis _burst into a laughter that could not be contained.

Enjolras and females did not mix well, in their opinion.

.::.

George Enjolras had originally planned to pick up Éponine for their.. chat.. much earlier than twelve o'clock, but he had woken up so late that there was no way he would have been able to get there at his intended time. By the time he did arrive at The Watering Hole, it was nearly one o'clock.

He sighed and cut the engine of his car and then stepped out. Instead of heading down the stairs that led into the speakeasy, he took the stairs that led up to Maurice's front door. He knocked twice and waited for a reply.

It didn't come until five minutes later.

Éponine opened the door, obviously a little peeved from having been kept so long. She raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Enjolras swallowed. He'd never seen Éponine in something other than her long, form fitting dresses that she wore during the evenings. Now, in the middle of the afternoon, she wore a sky blue, flowy dress with tan heels. Her hair was done into a braid and overall, she looked.. relaxed.

He came to when she began snapping her fingers before his eyes. "Hey! Are we staying here or going somewhere else?"

Enjolras coughed and took a step to the side. "We're going to Paul's."

Éponine rolled her eyes and leaned around the door, grabbing her purse off a hook. "Of course," she mumbled, stalking past Enjolras' pro-offered arm toward the car.

.::.

Éponine wasn't really in the mood to talk. She'd gotten a letter just that morning that one of the two families interested in her child were _no longer_ interested. It was a blow to her chest when she read the words. Apparently, they were too.. preoccupied with work and adding a child would cause for too much unneeded stress.

Didn't they know it.

The other family, a young couple, newly married, were unable to have children. He was a doctor and she was a librarian. They lived in Kansas, which, to Éponine, seemed like another country. And.. so far.

She slid into the car and shut the door, staring straight out the window. It was a miracle that Maurice let her off for the day, but he was growing more accustomed to her new needs with the pregnancy. She, on the other hand, had no idea how to handle herself with all the new changes!

She watched out of the corner of her eye as Enjolras rounded the car and began to breathe heavily. Almost instantly, she felt sorry for causing him so much stress. The baby wasn't his – at least, she didn't think so, but either way, it must be awful having to deal with her anger and resentment.

He was just trying to act concerned.

He got into the car and didn't say a word. The silence was full of unspoken words and many, many apologies, but nothing was said to make things right. That could be saved for later.

Paul's Country Restaurant was one of the only restaurants on their side of town. Though they lived in the bustling metropolis of Chicago, some parts were more rural than others; Paul's was the perfect example of that.

Enjolras drove the few blocks from The Watering Hole to Paul's and parked in the first open space he could find. It was still fairly busy, being the tail-end of lunch hour and all, but Enjolras didn't mind. The noise would drown out their conversation.

Before she could protest, Enjolras hopped out of the car and opened her door for her. Éponine smiled and followed him inside. They were quickly shown to a booth in the corner, overlooking a meadow on the side of the restaurant. Several young children were playing in the field, their parents standing by, watching. Enjolras winced.

Still in silence, their waitress came by and they ordered. Éponine didn't appear to be very hungry, but Enjolras was famished. After she left, Éponine finally opened her mouth.

"When I was little, my mother left us. It sent my father into much turmoil. I loved him, you know. Very much. I was always a daddy's girl." She stared deep into her glass of water.

Enjolras felt a sweat break out on his forehead. Of course. The woman who could _very well be _the mother of his child and an utter daddy's girl was also the daughter of the man he had killed.

He cleared his throat and offered some sort of amends – tried to, at least. "I am truly sorry for your loss. I know it must be hard.."

Éponine shrugged and looked almost happy as the food arrived. It'd been awhile since she'd eaten something passable. Enjolras tore into his lunch immediately; but she picked at hers with her fork.

"What was it you wanted to discuss?" she finally asked.

"Oh, yeah, right." Enjolras wiped at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "Yeah, uh, the baby."

Éponine sighed and closed her eyes. "What about the baby?"

"Do you really think giving it away is going to fix your problems?"

Her eyes opened in a flash. "Excuse me?"

He took a sip of coffee. "You heard me: if you give that baby away, is it gonna make all your problems go awat? Are you really gonna be free then?" He leaned his arms onto the table and bent forward.

Éponine scoffed – the question had caught her off guard. "Well, I don't.. I don't know."

Enjolras smirked. "Exactly."

Éponine frowned. "What point are you trying to make here?!"

Enjolras put his hands up in surrender. "Whoa, pipe down! I'm trying to show you that if you give the kid away, you're only gonna get _new _problems!"

Éponine wrinkled her nose and brushed some hair away from her cheek. "What do you mean?"

"Look, Éponine, givin' the baby away is just gonna give you more regret and pain. You're already stuck in a speakeasy for God's sake! Do you want to have to deal with knowing that you can never see or hold your child?"

Éponine put up her hand, shaking her head. "You don't understand! I'm trying to give him, or her, a better life; one I can't provide."

"I understand that, I do, but.. Fine. It's your kid." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Do you what you will."

Both members of the conversation let their anger simmer down for a moment. Éponine opened her mouth, about to speak, but she clamped it shut right after. There was another few moments of silence before she asked, "Why do you care?"

It was now Enjolras' turn to be caught off guard. "Why – why do I care?" He scoffed, but Éponine would not back down.

"That's what I said." She threw his words back onto him.

It was a valid question, Enjolras thought. Why did he care? Maybe because he'd never experienced a problem like this before and he found it.. interesting. Maybe because it could be his child and if it was, he would want a say in what happened.

Thinking for a couple of more seconds, Enjolras finally nodded. "I care because.. this could be mine." Éponine began to refute, but he cut her off. "You know it could be, too!" He lowered his voice and leaned in closer. "And if it is, I _need _to do my part."

.::.

They left Paul's around two-thirty. In an hour and a half, Enjolras figured that he'd successfully marked himself as part of Éponine's life now. She was silent on the way home, but he'd expected as much. They pulled into the alleyway on the side of The Watering Hole, for privacy.

Enjolras turned off the car and turned to face Éponine. "You need to get out of there," he said.

Éponine scoffed and rubbed under nose; she didn't look at him. "Is that so?"

"It's not safe for you!" He rubbed his face with his hand and sighed. "Look, you shouldn't be around alcohol or smoke, for that matter."

"Who made you a doctor?!"

"Éponine, please! For your safety."

Éponine finally looked at him and narrowed her eyes. After a few seconds, she straightened her back and nodded. "Thanks for lunch, George." She slid out of the car and leaned down to face him before she closed the door. "See you around." She slammed the door shut and stalked for the front of the building.

"Hey, wait, Éponine, what did that nod mean?!"

"It's up to interpretation," she hollered back.

Fueled by anger, Enjolras slammed his hand on the car's steering wheel. "Really? _Really? _Is that so?!" He pulled out of the alley quickly and sped back toward the warehouse.

.::.

Halfway home, Enjolras tore past the library, and as he passed, he saw a flash of red and brown. Stopping on a dime, Enjolras leaned out the open window. "Molly Charles!"

Molly was visibly startled. She jumped and dropped two of the books in her hand. Enjolras smirked. Molly laughed nervously and bent down to pick up her books; she stood up and raised her eyebrows. "George, you – you startled me!"

"Obviously." She colored and he cocked his head toward the car. "Well? Are you getting in?"

Molly looked over her shoulder at the library doors. "Where are we going?" She hugged her books closer.

"My place. You haven't seen it yet, so when I saw you I figured..."

She nodded hastily and itched the back of her neck. "I can't stay for very long, George."

He shrugged. "Hand me your books." Molly did so and crossed in front of the car, getting in just as another car whizzed by. Her eyes followed it, intrigued. "He was going awfully fast," he commented.

"Yeah.." She turned to him and smiled brightly. "You go pretty fast, too."

Enjolras laughed loudly and drove away, proving just how fast he could go.

* * *

**What the heck is this ending? **


	8. Balled Up

**A/N: Once again, I thank you all for being so very patient with me! Also, you can follow me on tumblr now. Collective cheer! I'm over at .com. I hope to hear from some of y'all!**

**(This wasn't as long as I would have liked for it to be, but I just wanted to get **_**something **_**up for you all. And I'm sorry if it is disjointed and awful. I'm not thinking that clearly right now.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

* * *

Balled Up

**1920's slang:** _balled up –_ confused, messed up.

.::.

Enjolras liked to pretend that he had it all under control.

He liked to think that when he got home at night and the next morning rolled around, he would have a set schedule and nothing out of the ordinary would happen throughout the day.

He was utterly wrong.

When he woke up each morning, he had the overwhelming guilt of _killing _a man and getting away with his pressed on his shoulders; he had the constant worry of maybe having a child in some woman he hardly liked; and then he had the trouble of Molly and running a business on his mind, too. Enjolras was a mess at actually planning anything in his life. He could barely plan ahead on the gin deliveries, much less plan his day and what he would end up doing with it.

Molly was his prime example. He hadn't expected her to come back home and cause such a stir. He didn't understand what it was about her; she was simple, quiet, so unlike the girls he usually went for. But she was a hell of a storm when drunk. It balanced out well.

Mindful that she wasn't able to stay for long, Enjolras drove quickly home and showed her into the warehouse. She was a little wary at first, what with it being a warehouse and all, but she warmed up to it the moment they stepped inside. That happened generally; and Enjolras didn't blame the women who turned on their heels once they saw what he lived in.

After letting her take a look around the place, Enjolras introduced her to _Les Amis. _They all were beyond thrilled to meet her, much to Enjolras' annoyance. They stayed around and got aquantied with each other for awhile and then Grantaire left to finish a painting and soon everyone ended up either leaving to do their own things or leaving to finish preparing an order.

This was when Enjolras' first secret spilled, which was not part of his original plan for bringing Molly home.

Molly had figured that Enjolras wasn't in the business he said he was once they pulled up to the warehouse and she didn't mind that he hadn't told her outright. She just wanted to know what he did for a living, that was all.

So when everyone had gone their separate ways, Molly slipped off her coat and handed it to Enjolras. "You're a bootlegger?"

Enjolras sputtered and stared at her incredulously. "How on earth did you figure that out?"

Molly shrugged and ran her finger over a dusty end table. "It smells a lot like beer in here." She smirked and cocked her head to the side.

Enjolras laughed nervously and ran a hand through his hair. "I wouldn't know that; I can never tell what my house spells like to other people." There was a pause. "Are you angry?"

"Why would I be angry?" she scoffed.

"Well, you're prim-"

"Prim!"

Enjolras instantly colored, feeling his palms heat up. "Yes! I mean, you just.. And you always.."

Molly laughed and put a hand on his shoulder. "You're digging yourself a deeper hole with each word, darling."

Enjolras smiled genuinely and pointed to the door in the far left corner. "Allow me to continue the tour, dear woman."

Molly pulled her hand away. "Oh, please do!"

.::.

That was the second time Enjolras' plan for the day had gone wrong.

Somehow, Molly had just ended up in his bed for the night. _Plop_. It hadn't been his original intention, and it certainly hadn't been hers either, but somehow it happened and neither of them were complaining.

She had said she wasn't able to stay long for whatever reason, but it didn't matter now. It was already morning and Enjolras had Molly snuggled up against his side and she was snoring so softly it was endearing and heartbreaking at the same time.

He'd made a mistake. This couldn't happen. Not with Éponine relying on him.

But he couldn't just break whatever he and Molly had off after what they had just done. That would hurt her too much. Even if, in the end, it benefited them both, he would have to wait.

He ran a hand over his face and sighed.

He was crap at making plans.

.::.

Éponine had made her final decision about the baby: she would keep it. If only for Enjolras' sake. It was obvious, to her, that he wanted to have something to do with her and the baby. She'd had a little change of heart after their talk; maybe he would be good for her.

Two days after their conversation at the restaurant, Éponine told Maurice she would no longer sing for him; she promised to continue working _behind _the bar, but no more singing. He took it rather well, and Éponine had a weight lifted from her shoulders.

One afternoon, Éponine was tending the bar when Enjolras walked in, brooding. She stilled and stopped wiping the counter. He walked toward the bar slowly, patting an old man's shoulder as he passed. He caught her eyes and raised his eyebrows; Éponine went back to wiping the counter to try and calm her nerves.

Why in the hell was she nervous?

"Scotch, please," he rasped, pulling himself up on the bar-stool.

"Hello to you, too," she grumbled.

"I thought I told you to stop working here." He grabbed the small glass from her hand and downed it quickly, raising it slightly to indicate he wanted a refill.

Éponine shrugged. "I don't listen."

He nodded. "I've noticed."

The air between them was thick. Éponine looked to her left and refilled a glass for a beyond drunk man; his wife had left him that morning.

"You look tired," she finally said.

Enjolras jolted. He'd just dropped Molly off but moments ago. He was beyond tired: he was drained. His life was in a shambles. He needed to either get rid of Éponine or get rid of Molly, and fast.

"I'm – The business is getting hectic."

"Is it?" Éponine rested her hand on the slight curve of her stomach. Her back was aching and she really needed to sit down, but she didn't have the time.

Enjolras noticed and patted the seat next to him. "Sit down."

Éponine looked around; no one was looking. She heaved a sigh and went around the bar, taking the seat next to Enjolras. He smirked at her. "_You _seem tired."

"Eh," she shrugged, then smirked. "I am pregnant."

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded. "Yeah.." His voice was heavy.

Éponine looked over her shoulder. Something was troubling him and she wanted to know what it was. She elbowed his side. "You wanna go for a walk?"

Enjolras raised his eyebrows and set his glass down; he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. "Sure.."

.::.

They walked along the large park behind The Watering Hole. It had spacious grounds, large trees, and a lot of covering. Pathways were carved out and provided a nice walkway. Enjolras took a drag now and then from his cigarette and blew it out away from Éponine.

It was the first time she had ever seen him smoke; like others that she knew, he must only do it when stressed. She hoped _she _wasn't the cause of that stress, but she figured she was, in some way.

They were silent until they finally reached the walkways of the park. Éponine spoke first, putting her hands in her coat pocket. The temperature was dropping quickly; the holidays would be upon them soon. "What's eating you up?" she asked.

Enjolras flicked the butt out of his fingers. "I've got a dilemma."

"Don't we all?"

Enjolras looked at the ground as they walked along; he could tell her about Molly and risk driving her away even more, or he could tell her because he wanted to be open and honest. "I'm having a problem with this.. girl."

Éponine stood straighter. _It has to be me.. _"Really?"

Enjolras could feel her trepidation. He stopped walking and put a gentle hand on her elbow. "It's not you," he reassured her.

Éponine frowned and pulled her elbow away. "You've got a bird?"

"A bird – what? Oh! A.. a girlfriend?" He chuckled nervously. "No. I haven't got a girlfriend."

"You made it sound like you did." Éponine brushed hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. He wasn't making much sense, but he'd been drinking quite a bit before they started walking.

"Did I?" He swallowed. "Well, I guess you could think that. I've – we've gone on a few dates before.." Éponine nodded, urging him on. "I'm sorry. Is this awkward for you?"

Éponine chuckled. "Yes."

"Oh, well, I'll stop then."

"It shouldn't matter, George," Éponine whispered. "If you need to say something, go ahead."

"No, no, if it makes you uncomfortable, I don't want to keep going."

"Enjolras, please! Now you have me intrigued."

"Fine, Miss Pushy." He nodded and continued on. "That girl I brought to the bar a week or so ago. My problem is with her."

"You looked happy enough to me?" Éponine wouldn't admit it, but she was happy Enjolras was drifting apart from the girl If he was really going to be committed her and the child, she needed to be out of the picture.

"Sure, we're.. happy, but I don't think it's going anywhere for me."

"Then.. stop it." Wasn't it that simple?

"I may have.. slept with her, last night." Enjolras watched with regret Éponine's face fall; she quickly tried to regain her confidence, but he hadn't missed the emotion.

"Oh.."

"I can't just leave her like that."

"Right."

"Right."

He pulled out another cigarette with shaking fingers. After he lit it, he shared a look with Éponine that communicated a lot. She was angry, he could tell. She could tell that he was regretting ever even breaking his promise to her.

"Look, Enjolras," she started backing up. "I'll see you around. Have fun with.. whoever she is."

Enjolras groaned. "Éponine, wait! Please don't.."

But she was already gone.


End file.
